


Hypothetically Speaking

by The_Readers_Muse



Category: Walking Dead, Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: AU after season four finale, Emotional Baggage, Established Relationship, F/M, USS Caryl's 'Difficult Decisons' Fanfiction/Fanart Challenge, twist ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-14
Updated: 2014-05-16
Packaged: 2018-01-24 19:57:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1615187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Readers_Muse/pseuds/The_Readers_Muse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Would you change anything?" he finally asked, avoiding her eyes in favor of gesturing off into the sunset, keeping his expression neutral as she unfolded herself from his lap and leaned against his shoulder.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or any of its characters, wishful thinking aside.
> 
> Authors Note #1: This is a response fill for the USS Caryl's 'Difficult Decisions' Fanfiction/Fanart Challenge – meant to answer the following prompt: "Carol and Daryl get together, but it's all a dream."
> 
> Warnings: Spoilers for all four seasons and should be considered AU after the events of the end of season four. References Daryl and Carol's past, mature language, mature content, allusions to an established Caryl relationship.

The sun was setting, staining the horizon with a warm orange-red glow. It was the same sky he'd seen all his life. And probably the only one he'd ever see, if he was being honest. And regardless of his childhood dreams, he'd made his peace with that. A few years ago, back before all this had happened, the thought would have rankled him. He'd always figured that when Merle finally evened out – got clean – he'd finally be able to do all the shit  _he_ wanted to do.

He'd had plans, weren't much, but he'd had 'em all the same.

Georgia was where every Dixon, as far back as his old man could remember, had been born and raised. They hadn't seen any reason to leave, and like Merle had told him more than once growing up, why should he?

The corners of his lips twitched as Carol shifted in his lap, dozing in the late summer sun. He shook his head. He'd gained more here - in his home state - than he deserved. That much he knew for certain. He didn't believe in fate or luck or even the big man upstairs. But even he couldn't deny that in a twisted, roundabout sort of way, he'd been blessed.

After all, what was a little wanderlust compared to  _this_?

He looked down at her, eyes lingering on the way their fingers were laced together. His throat tightened. It'd taken half of  _forever_ to get to this point. And honestly, part of him was still expecting to wake up. To find himself back in his bunk at the prison, or on the road like he'd been with Beth, Joe and all those other assholes, only to realize that everything that'd happened since had just been one long-ass dream.

She yawned, not seeming to notice he was lost in thought as she snuggled close.

_Christ, she made it seem so easy._

Hell, any sane person would have bailed a long ass time ago. And after all, how could he blame 'em? By all rights Carol  _should_  have gone for someone a little less damaged – someone younger and easier to mold. But she hadn't. Not once. Not even when he'd done his best to drive her away. She'd been there since the beginning and despite his doubts, something deep in his gut told him that was where she'd stay.

And  _fuck_  if he wasn't the luckiest bastard this side of the apocalypse because of it. Greedy too, because now that he had her, he sure as hell wasn't about to let her go.

Somewhere, not too far off, a wolf bayed. The sound spread, echoing in the silence as he considered the months –  _years_ \- that had spanned out since they'd lost the prison. After the dust up in Terminus, after Carol, Tyreese and littleasskicker had waltzed in and given all those cannibalistic fuckers something  _new_  to chew on, they'd wandered, aimless – placeless for a long time. It wasn't until they came across a mall, about five hundred clicks east of anything that could actually be called a city, that things took a turn for the better.

It'd been small, defensible, and had promise despite being almost completely cleared out by scavengers since whatever containment measures had failed in the little podunk town that bordered it. It'd taken more than a few years, but now it was home. They had crops growing in solar boxes on the roof and eventually, in the dirt beside the parking lot that ringed the inner fences.

It'd been tough slugging, with more than a few setbacks, but they'd made it.

They hadn't been set up for more than a week or two, still in the process of stocking up and figuring out the lay of the land when the first group of survivors came to treat at their front gate. It'd been a small group, ragged, lean, on their last legs, but they'd been close, a family in all but blood.

They were led by a woman with red hair and a jaw-line that could have cut marble. She went by the name of Striker, and broached her terms in no uncertain words when they'd met her group – six strong – at the front gates. He hadn't been sure whether to laugh or be impressed when she'd leveled them with a no nonsense look that had only softened when she caught sight of Judith, pudgy arms wind-milling as she tottered unsteadily towards Beth and Tara in the shade. Still trying to figure out how that whole walking thing worked as she fell smack on her butt and giggled herself into an early nap.

They'd been stand-offish for the first little while, keeping to themselves and generally quick on the draw when they figured they were being threatened. Honestly, it'd been a lot like sticking your hand into a box of pissed off, half-feral tom-cats, hoping they wouldn't slash your hand off when you made a grab for 'em.

But Rick had been content to give them their space. They'd been together since the very beginning and it was only circumstance - getting mowed down by a group of scavengers a few months before – that'd forced them to risk the generosity of strangers. In the end, patience and more than a little bit of spoilin', with Carol and the others going out of their way to make them feel welcome, finally paid off.

More groups had followed, only a handful over the years, but they'd welcomed each and every one. Finding that a bit of overcrowding and conflicting personalities was well worth it when it came to the occasional group of numbnuts that tried their luck at the outer gates – plannin' to take what wasn't theirs.

The roof was by far his favorite spot. You could see for miles and there was always a breeze. The air tasted different up here –  _cleaner_. And as was their habit, they were tangled together, leaning up against one of the air conditioning units – well hidden if anyone else decided to come up and sample the evening breeze.

And just like Glenn and Maggie had claimed the guard tower all those years ago, this was their place. They'd claimed it first thing, in more ways than one, before they'd even chosen a place to kip for the night. At the very least, it gave the others something to gossip about.

_Busybodies._

He blinked, squinting as the dying light fractured across the horizon. The shadows were spreading, eating up the squat buildings and sagging power lines of the deserted town that spiraled out between them. He shifted, restless, struggling to keep a lid on the words he'd been mulling over all day as she blinked up at him. Her expression was soft but questioning as her head tipped back in his lap.

The dark fan of her lashes flirted with the freckled pale of her skin, highlighting perfection and imperfection alike. But with her, he'd never been able to tell the difference. He'd come to the conclusion long ago, that she was  _his_  kind of perfect and had left it at that. Less headaches that way.

"Would you change anything?" he finally asked, avoiding her eyes in favor of gesturing off into the sunset, keeping his expression neutral as she unfolded herself from his lap and leaned against his shoulder.

"Hypothetically speaking?" she asked, breaking the mood by grinning into his shirt sleeves when he snorted, ignoring the distant score of metal on metal as a couple of walkers rattled ineffectually at the outer gates.

"I'm serious."

There was a pause. Just like he'd known there would be. Scant moments where he knew their thoughts were lingering on the same thing – a spit of dirty blonde hair and a skinny little mess of thin limbs and awkward freckles – before her expression cleared.

Instead, she sighed, letting go of a lilting hum of sound that seemed far too content considering the circumstances before she shook her head. Blue eyes shot-through with heat-sleep and the last muted traces of pleasure that lingered from when he'd seized her by the waist halfway up the stairs and tossed her over his shoulder. Ears still ringing with her cries from when he'd yanked down her jeans and used his tongue to make her sing.

She brought him down to her with the weight of a single finger. Forgoing the kiss he saw brewing in the back of her gaze in an effort to belay her seriousness.

"I am right where I'm supposed to be."

Her smile was like the sunrise, like the beginning and end of every single day he had left to him in this world. And as stars gradually took shape above them, he figured that was all the assurance a man like him ever needed.


	2. Chapter 2

In a private suburb just north of Atlanta, Edwin Jenner jerked awake.

He wrenched himself upright, gasping, staring blindly into the dark as his heart pounded, heavy and high in his chest. After-images of the night terror streaked through his mind's eye, flighty and jarring as he forced himself to calm.

_Jesus! It was just a dream. Thank god, it was only a dream._

His pulse was like cardiac arrest between his temples.

He unknotted his fists from around the duvet with difficulty, still too shell-shocked to be embarrassed when he realized his shirt was soaked with sweat. He peeled it off and let it fall, barely aware that it took his cellphone and keys with it as he stared blankly at the opposite wall. The damp material hit the hardwood with an audible  _splat_ , muffling the sound as his power-cord unplugged and his phone chirped a greeting.

_Four new text messages. Urgent. CDC. One new voice message._

The clock on the bedside table flashed red – garish and bleeding as he rubbed his eyes.

_3:47am._

He had to be up in less than three hours.

He did the math; pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes until sparks spread across his vision. He'd gotten home late - again. He'd lost track of time in the lab and then there had been something to do with construction on the way home. Candace had already been in bed for hours by the time he'd reheated some leftovers and crawled into bed. He'd only been asleep for two hours.

Somewhere below him, his phone buzzed.

_CNN Breaking News Alert._

He ignored it.

Candace shifted beside him, making a soft, snuffling snore before flopping over to her other side, one leg hanging clear off the bed. Any other time, it would have made him smile, grateful he had a partner that could sleep through a train wreck and still manage to wake up five minutes before her alarm every single morning. She was the kind of person that deemed every morning a Monday, but would be up and about, running her usual ten miles – regardless of the weather - long before he could even stumble downstairs to answer the allure of the coffeemaker. Or, if he was feeling particularly bold, try to figure out where she'd hidden the expensive Hawaiian dark roast.

Only this time he didn't. His expression was slack, stagnant.  _Something wasn't right._

He tried to remember what had gotten him so riled up, but, as dreams were oft to do, he was already losing it. A handful of images – impressions mostly – was the only thing that remained. He remembered a rooftop, a sunset, a deserted town. There had been two people, a man and a woman holding hands and-

He shook his head. What had been so clear a moment ago - enough to make him sweat clear through the sheets, half-terrified of something he couldn't even put a name to - had melted away, wisping into the dark until he had half a mind to question if he'd just imagined the entire thing in the first place.

_God, he needed sleep._

He slumped backwards, head hitting the pillows with a bit more force than was strictly necessary. Frustration coursed through him, momentarily overriding good sense as a little voice in the back of his head whispered – going on about work, meetings and the backlog of research that was collecting dust on his desk in the lab. Finding himself unable to shake the feeling that whatever he was missing was important somehow. That he needed to remember or-

He winced, guilty when she stirred. She didn't say anything, she just curled up beside him, letting him wrap an arm around her as they breathed into the quiet. He shivered, unable to stop the tremor as skin - still slick with the vestiges of his cold-sweat - met the warm air, prickling with goose-flesh as he tried to burrow deeper into the mattress.

"Edwin? You-you okay?" she slurred, fingers tugging at the thin tangle of reddish-brown that crowned his chest, making a soft sound as she breathed – rough-edged and uninhibited into the pale of his throat.

He opened his mouth, wondering what to tell her when they jerked, startled as her phone blared out into the hush. Ringing with the shrill, old fashioned tone she'd selected for unfamiliar numbers.

"Oh for Pete's sake," she groaned, flinging herself off in the opposite direction, "hold on… _hold on!_ "

She cursed, knocking her tablet off the bedside table. But when she picked up the phone, something in her posture changed, stiffening as she fumbled for a long moment, untangling herself from the sheets as she answered.

"Candace Jenner speaking."

He was aware on some level that there was something wrong with her tone. All the softness, the good humor, was gone. Replaced by that PR 'swimming in bullshit' edge she only ever used for the most serious of committee meetings, usually when the state senate wanted to reduce funding or allocate resources to a different sector. She never backed down. And when that edge came out, it sent seasoned politicians  _scrambling_.

But his mind was still spinning.

"Yes, I understand. Of course, but-"

Somewhere in the distance, a siren wailed.

"I don't understand, there were protocols put into place to stop this from-"

He turned, rolling onto his side, drawing the covers tighter around him as the mattress dipped and she got to her feet. He clamped down on the urge to face her, to watch as she paced, bare feet shying away from the chill – a vision in pale pink silk and messy brown hair. But for reasons beyond him, he didn't. He kept his back to her – to whatever it was on the other end of the phone that'd put that tone back into her words.

"Maximum containment. Why is this even a debate? Don't wait for my arrival. Quarantine those exposed and start emergency procedures. We can't let this get any more of a jump on us than it already has. I want-"

_Containment?_

He felt like a child hiding under the box springs. Like a toddler playing hide and seek. Thinking that closing their eyes and plopping down in plain sight would be enough to save them. His pulse thrummed underneath his skin, spiking high as a remnant of his dream wavered teasingly – darting to and fro in his mind's eye – only just out of reach.

_If you can't see me. You can't get me._

"It's not containable? How did this happen?! I thought I'd advised the Governor that-"

His counted out his pulse, closing his eyes when she turned on the light and started fishing through her briefcase. Somewhere close by the first siren was joined by a second. Then a third.  _Was something on fire?_

"Well, that would describe the mutation, but yes- no – you can't be serious! I said no, damnit!"

He rubbed his toes against the duvet, thoughts spiraling out, feigning sleep as he stared through the slots in the blinds. The neighbor's porch light was on – motion senor. He arched a brow.  _Weren't they in the Bahamas?_

"I understand. Yes. ETA twenty minutes. We'll be there."

He sat up in bed when she ended the call, blinking owlishly as she flipped on the light and all but threw herself into the closet. The unfamiliar number flashed once – long and irritatingly jumbled before the screen on her phone went dark.

His head whipped up when the sudden  _klank-klack-creeeeak_ of the lock-box screeched into the early morning quiet – a coded fire safe that had been there when they'd bought the place.

_What the hell?_

"What is it?"

She nearly tripped coming around the corner, trying to walk and yank on a pair of pants at the same time. A thick manila folder with red and black edging fell into his lap. The metal bindings were heavy, cold and biting through the thin material of his sleep pants.

There was something stamped across the front.

_Code name: Wildfire._

He tried to catch her eye but she was already moving, tossing clothing from both their drawers into the big duffle bag they kept for emergencies. There was a muscle ticking in her jaw – she was grinding her teeth again. She hadn't done that for a long time, not since-

"The governor just gave you clearance. I'm going to need you on this one," she answered, already miles away as a pair of pants and a work shirt sailed across the room, nearly taking out the folder in his hands as his fingers tightened reflexively.

"Remember that hypothetical scenario we talked about when I took this job?" she asked, startling him when he realized that somewhere in between the folder and the closet she'd come around to his side, sinking down on her haunches in front of him, eyes wide – imploring – worried.

_Hypothetically speaking?_

In the back of his mind, a woman's voice - heady, rich, but ultimately unknown to him - chuckled.

And for reasons beyond him, as the sound of a chopper thrummed in the distance, something in the back of his mind  _itched_. Unable to shake the feeling that he was missing something insurmountably important.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reference #1: According to the Walking Dead wiki, "Candace" is the name of Jenner's late wife. Whom we learn in the season one finale, ran the CDC and was 'a veritable genius in their profession'. She is also referred to as TS-19 – a nod to the manner of her death and how she asked her husband to record the process of her turning and use her brain samples in an effort to find a cure.


End file.
